


Such an Old-Fashioned Word

by Melibe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), that scene in episode two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-22 23:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20330152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe
Summary: “No?” Aziraphale said, lifting one eybrow. “Then I suppose I’ll have to do it.”Stepping forward, he reached for my collar in a gentle mirror of my earlier violence. He tugged me down, rose up on his toes, and pressed his lips to mine.





	Such an Old-Fashioned Word

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen so many wonderful takes on "what if Sister Mary hadn't interrupted them???" and since I firmly believe there can never be too many Aziraphale/Crowley Wall Slam fics, I had to write one too. Also I wanted to play around with writing Crowley in first person.

“I’m a demon, I’m not nice!” I snarled, shoving Aziraphale against the wall. “I’m never nice! Nice is a four-letter word!” I had to keep talking, to keep acting furious so I wouldn’t think about how good it felt to be this close. “I will not have you destroying my reputation, and if you ever—”

“It’s all right, Crowley,” he said quietly. He looked a bit startled by the sudden aggression, but not at all frightened. Then he gave me a tiny, adorable smile. “You can just kiss me if you want to.”

I was caught so off guard that I dropped my hands and took a shaky step backward. Of course I wanted to kiss him—had wanted to for millenia—but I hadn’t been thinking about it right then. Not with that smug angel trying to proclaim my _niceness_ to the whole blessed world. I was feeling incredibly pissed off and that was _all_.

“No?” Aziraphale said, lifting one eybrow. “Then I suppose I’ll have to do it.”

Stepping forward, he reached for my collar in a gentle mirror of my earlier violence. He tugged me down, rose up on his toes, and pressed his lips to mine. It was like Heaven—

—or rather, it was like all of the good I could remember from Heaven and none of the bad, and even better than that, because it was _him_, Aziraphale, finally kissing me after six thousand years. The radiant love in his face, his hands, his whole being, was almost too much to bear. More than just calling me nice, this was a love so intense it would actually _remake_ me as nice—

No. I didn’t have to stand there and let it happen. There was no way I was going to break this kiss, but I could make it as demonic as it was angelic. I slid my hand through his perfect golden curls, tilted his head, and nudged my tongue between his lips. Having been a snake, I know something about tongues. I took the pure kiss of an angel and turned it wicked without the slightest compunction. 

After all, he was my hedonistic bastard of an angel, and I knew he’d like it.

If there was any hesitation, it was over in milliseconds. Then his mouth opened hungrily against mine, his hands tightened on my jacket, and his body surged forward. Now I was the one with my back against the wall. Fuck if it wasn’t hotter than I’d ever imagined. Aziraphale pulled one of my legs up to his hip, so I wrapped them both around his waist, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

_What if someone sees us,_ I thought vaguely, not that I gave a shit about humans, but Hastur might have kept eyes on this place. Could I convince him that the temptation of an angel was my Deed of the Day? Somehow I didn’t think it would go over well.

Then my thoughts splintered into chaos, because Aziraphale had grabbed my hair and was dragging my head backward. His lips left mine to move down my throat, over my collarbone and the skin of my chest. He was kissing, licking, even _biting_, and I let out a hiss of pleasure that was nearly a scream.

That idiot angel let go immediately, stepping away even as he steadied me on my feet. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?” he asked in genuine concern, with his cheeks still flushed and his breathing still heavy.

A million sarcastic answers rushed through my brain, but I couldn’t quite manage to get any of them out. “You—of all the—angel—no. You did not hurt me.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad.” He was beginning to look very self-conscious, straightening his jacket and bowtie. “I—ah—well, I suppose we should get on with the investigation.”

“After _that_?” I knew my clothes were in disarray too, but I didn’t feel in the least like straightening them. Especially not when I saw Aziraphale’s gaze linger on the bare skin of one shoulder. “Sure. Fine. Let’s pretend we didn’t just snog in the hall of an ex-convent like a couple of randy teenagers. Let’s pretend that in five more minutes we wouldn’t have had each other naked on the floor.”

Aziraphale’s blush was very satisfying. I’d never seen him quite so red. But the tone of his voice was cool. “Very well, Crowley, was this little adventure meant to prove how not-nice you are? Now you can go back to Hell and report that you’ve tempted an angel with extremely sinful thoughts, and they’ll forgive you for losing the Antichrist. Congratulations.”

He started walking down the hallway in a huff. It wasn’t hard to catch up. “Hell doesn’t do forgiveness,” I reminded him. “And I didn’t want to prove anything.”

“What did you want, then?” he asked, sounding more curious than annoyed.

“Just you,” I said quietly. “Angel, it’s always been you.”

“Ah.” He colored very prettily again, and glanced at me sideways. “Next time, I’d rather like you to say it first.”

I swallowed hard on the thought. I knew what he wanted me to say, and it was a hell of a thing for a demon to say to anyone, let alone to an angel. If we were going to start acting that far out of character . . . 

“If I say it, then I’ll expect you to do it.”

Aziraphale can be dense, but I have _extremely_ suggestive eyebrows. He figured it out. “Oh,” he said. “Oh dear.”

Then we turned a corner and bumped into Sister Mary Loquacious, so the conversation had to be tabled.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Queen's Under Pressure, of course.


End file.
